Cleric's Iron Dagger of Bloodlust

Cleric's Iron Dagger of Bloodlust gleams with a patient, pewter glow, its blade slender and double-edged, hammered iron that catches the candlelight in a dim priory. The edge is impossibly keen, faint lines of silver running along the spine like veins under glass. The hilt is wrapped in weathered leather, stained a deep burgundy that hints at countless skirmishes and midnight rites, while a small sigil—two intertwining crescents over a bleeding heart—is etched along the guard. The whole thing feels warm to the touch, as though it remembers the hands that wielded it before, and the iron itself bears a micro-etching of prayer markings that glow faintly when the dagger draws near a wound. There is a rumor that the blade once drank the first breath of a dying monk, and ever since, it has carried a memory of that vow to protect life, even as it thirsts for a foe’s blood. Lorekeepers speak in hushed tones about the dagger’s lineage: forged in the furnaces beneath a ruined chapel by a smith who swore fealty to a hard-won order of healers who walked the line between salvation and sacrifice. The clerics who wore its name claimed the weapon could bind a foe’s spirit to the wielder’s will for a moment, granting clarity of purpose in the heat of battle. In scarred streets and moonlit ruins, travelers say the dagger hums when a life is saved and flares brighter when a life is taken in righteous defense, as if the conduit between mercy and necessity were etched into its steel. In gameplay, the Cleric's Iron Dagger of Bloodlust is a story weapon as much as a tool. It favors those who blend healing prayers with measured aggression—a rite-master or frontline healer who can slip into a swift, precise strike and then pivot back to support. Wielding it, a player might chain a quick stab to open a window, then unleash a healing pulse or shield as the Bloodlust energy builds. The dagger channels that fervor into a temporary boon—faster attack cadence, sharper focus, and a brief lightening of the bow-wave of fear in nearby allies. It feels both intimate and dangerous, like a whispered oath spoken aloud mid-battle, binding the wielder’s resolve to the lives around them. Market lore adds texture to the blade’s legend. In the crowded aisles near the harbor, traders whisper of the dagger’s value shifting with tides and fortunes. A note posted at Saddlebag Exchange mentions a price range that fluctuates with demand for holy-iron relics and blood-forged curiosities. What one buyer calls a rescue, another calls a risk, and the ledger at Saddlebag Exchange reflects that truth: a price tag that can swing from modest to daring, depending on the buyer’s intent and the guild’s interest. Still, the dagger rarely sits long on any stall; its legend travels faster than it does, slipping from palm to palm as couriers, healers, and marauders alike weigh its promise against its cost. So the Cleric's Iron Dagger of Bloodlust does more than cut. It binds a moment of mercy to an instant of consequence, a talisman for healers forced to bear the burden of power. In the world it belongs to, every creak of its leather grip tells a living story: courage, sacrifice, and the stubborn, hopeful pulse of those who choose to fight—not because it is easy, but because it must be done.